Friday humour - December 19, 1997

     From Tony at Bluehaze:

   Hi,
New faces keep on popping up every week with the odd joke (in fact, some are
so odd that I'm too chicken to pass them on).  Andrew (Urban) is still
hanging in there at Port, and he recently passed this on:
                   ---------------------------------

A Letter To Santa (from Barbie)

                                                   Barbie
                                                   c/o Mattel, Inc.
                                                   El Segundo, CA  90245

Santa Claus
North Pole, North Pole
December 23, 1997

Dear Santa:

Listen you fat little troll, I've been helping you out every year, playing
at being the perfect Christmas Present, wearing skimpy bathing suits in
frigid weather, and drowning in fake tea from one too many tea parties, and
I hate to break it to ya Santa, but IT'S DEFINITELY PAYBACK TIME!

There had better be some changes around here this Christmas, or I'm gonna
call for a nation-wide meltdown (and trust me, you won't wanna be around to
smell it).  So, here's my holiday wish list for 1997, Santa:

1.      A nice, comfy pair of sweat pants and a frumpy, oversized
sweatshirt.  I'm sick of looking like a hooker.  How much smaller are these
bathing suits gonna get?  Do you have any idea what it feels like to have
nylon and velcro crawling up your butt?

2.      Real underwear that can be pulled on and off.  Preferably white.
What bonehead at Mattel decided to cheap out and MOLD imitation underwear to
my skin?!?  It looks like cellulite!

3.      A REAL man...maybe GI Joe.  Hell, I'd take Tickle-Me Elmo over that
wimped-out excuse for a boytoy Ken.  And what's with that earring anyway?
If I'm gonna have to suffer with him, at least make him (and me)
anatomically correct.

4.      Arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp
away once he is anatomically correct.

5.      Breast reduction surgery.  I don't care whose arm you have to twist,
just get it done.

6.      A jogbra.  To wear until I get the surgery.

7.      A new career.  Pet doctor and school teacher just don't cut it.  How
about a systems analyst?  Or better yet, an public relations senior account
exec!

8.      A new, more 90s persona.  Maybe "PMS Barbie", complete with a
miniature container of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a bag of
chips;  "Animal Rights Barbie", with my very own pain gun, outfitted with a
fake fur coat, bottle of spray on blood and handcuffs; or "Stop Smoking
Barbie," sporting a removable Nicotrol patch and equipped with several packs
of gum.

9.      No more McDonald's endorsements.  The grease is wrecking my vinyl.

10.     Mattel stock options.  It's been 37 years--I think I deserve it.


Ok, Santa, that's it.  Considering my valuable contribution to society, I
don't think these requests are out of line.  If you disagree, then you can
find yourself a new bitch for next Christmas.  It's that simple.

                                                 Yours truly,

                                                       Barbie
             --------------------------------------------------


     Here's another one off the infamous "deviants" list over in Perth:
                         --------------------

A man goes into a restaurant and is seated.  All the waitresses are gorgeous.

A particularly voluptuous waitress wearing a very short skirt with legs that
just won't quit walks up to his table and asked if he was ready to order,
"What would you like, sir?"

He looks at the menu, and then scans her beautiful frame top to bottom, and
answers, "A quickie."

The waitress turns and walks away in disgust.  After she regains her composure
she returns and asks again, "What would you like, sir?"

Again the man thoroughly checks her out, and again says: "A quickie, please."

This time her anger takes over, and she reaches over and slaps him across
the face with a resounding "SMACK!" and storms away.

A man sitting at the next table leans over and whispers, "Um ... I think
it's pronounced 'quiche'."
             --------------------------------------------------


     Now back to some Santa jokes, Petros Kapoulitsas passed this on (it
probably represents (in mathematical terms) pretty much what we all scratched
our collective heads over as kids):
                       ---------------------------

SANTA CLAUS: An Engineer's Perspective

I.  There are approximately two billion children (persons under 18) in the
world.  However, since Santa does not visit children of Muslim, Hindu, Jewish
or Buddhist religions, this reduces the workload for Christmas night to 15%
of the total, or 378 million (according to the Population Reference Bureau).
At an average(census) rate of 3.5 children per house hold, that comes to 108
million homes, presuming that there is at least one good child in each.

II. Santa has about 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the
different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east
to west (which seems logical).  This works out to 967.7 visits per second.
This is to say that for each Christian household with a good child, Santa
has around 1/1000th of a second to park the sleigh, hop out, jump down the
chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the
tree, eat whatever snacks have been left for him, get back up the chimney,
jump into the sleigh and get on to the next house.

Assuming that each of these 108 million stops is evenly distributed around
the earth (which, of course, we know to be false, but will accept for the
purposes of our calculations), we are now talking about 0.78 miles per
household; a total trip of 75.5 million miles, not counting bathroom stops
or breaks.  This means Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second ---
3,000 times the speed of sound.  For purposes of comparison, the fastest
man-made vehicle, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per
second, and a conventional reindeer can run at best) 15 miles per hour.

III. The payload of the sleigh adds another interesting element.  Assuming
that each child gets nothing more than a medium sized Lego set(two pounds),
the sleigh is carrying over 500 thousand tons, not counting Santa himself.
On land, a conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds.  Even
granting that the "flying" reindeer could pull ten times the normal amount,
the job can't be done with eight or even nine of them --- Santa would need
360,000 of them.  This increases the payload, not counting the weight of the
sleigh, another 54,000 tons, or roughly seven times the weight of the Queen
Elizabeth (the ship, not the monarch).

IV.  600,000 tons travelling at 650 miles per second crates enormous air
resistance --- this would heat up the reindeer in the same fashion as a
spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere.  The lead pair of reindeer
would absorb 14.3 quintillion joules of energy per second each.  In short,
they would burst into flames almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer
behind them and creating deafening sonic booms in their wake.  The entire
reindeer team would be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second, or
right about the time Santa reached the fifth house on his trip.

Not that it matters, however, since Santa, as a result of accelerating from
a dead stop to 650 m.p.s. in .001 seconds, would be subjected to centrifugal
forces of 17,500 g's.  A 250 pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would
be pinned to the back of the sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force, instantly
crushing his bones and organs and reducing him to a quivering blob of pink
goo.

V.  Therefore, if Santa did exist, he's dead now.
             --------------------------------------------------

   Now the above analysis must have been circulating around the Internet for
   a few weeks, because a rebuttal has already been sighted.  So to keep the
   scales balanced for those of us who do still believe in Santa, next weeks
   (Wednesday) humour will include an equally acerbic rebuttal.

   Here's some intersting quotes passed on by Clare Talbot (again, via the
   medium of the deviants list):
                      ------------------------


These are taken from real resumes and cover letters and were printed in the
July 21, 1997 issue of Fortune Magazine:

1.   I demand a salary commiserate with my extensive experience.

2.   I have lurnt Word Perfect 6.0 computor and spreadsheet progroms.

3.   Received a plague for Salesperson of the Year.

4.   Reason for leaving last job: maturity leave.

5.   Wholly responsible for two (2) failed financial institutions.

6.   Failed bar exam with relatively high grades.

7.   Its best for employers that I not work with people.

8.   Lets meet, so you can ooh and aah over my experience.

9.   You will want me to be Head Honcho in no time.

10.  Am a perfectionist and rarely if if ever forget details.

11.  I was working for my mum until she decided to move.

12.  Marital status: single. Unmarried. Unengaged.  Uninvolved. No
     commitments.

13.  I have an excellent track record, although I am not a horse.

14.  I am loyal to my employer at all costs ...  Please feel free to
     respond to my resume on my office voice mail.

15.  I have become completely paranoid, trusting completely no one and
     absolutely nothing.

16.  My goal is to be a meteorologist. But since I possess no training in
     meterology, I suppose I should try stock brokerage.

17.  I procrastinate, especially when the task is unpleasant.

18.  As indicted, I have over five years of analyzing investments.

19.  Personal interests: donating blood. Thirty litres so far.

20.  Instrumental in ruining entire operation for a suburban chain store.

21.  Note: Please dont miscontrue my 14 jobs as job-hopping. I have never
     quit a job.

22.  Marital status: often. Children: various.

23.  Reason for leaving last job: They insisted that all employees get to
     work by 8:45 AM.  every morning. Could not work under those
     conditions.

24.  The company made me a scapegoat, just like my three previous
     employers.

25.  Finished eighth in my class of ten.

26.  References: None. Ive left a path of destruction behind me.
    -----------------------------------------------------------------------


That's it for this week.  For anyone who'd like to have a peek, Bernie's
going to try screening the tape of last year's Port Melbourne Christmas
Revue in the canteen today (during the BBQ).

And a bit of a plug here for one of nature's gentlemen, Bob Dorin (even if
he can't spell Christmas), who's last day will be January 5th.  Bob will
taking on more piano tuning in his "retirement", so for any of you that have
such an instrument lying around, get in touch with Bob and get his 'phone
number before he leaves us!  (And his callsign is VK3ZU ... and that isn't
"CB")
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[ End Fri humour ]



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